On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5) (26 page)

She hardly slept that night,
struggling with the information and the complete and utter lack of Trace in her
life. She ran her fingers over the letters on the poem he wrote, the promise.
The next day she zoned out until heavy flakes dropped from the sky.

“I’m done with winter,” she
shouted. But as the blanket of snow covered the dirty slush, leaving a fresh
white canvas, possibility arose within her.

She recalled her promise to
herself, to hold steady to her course, living on the mountain, alone,
independent, self-sufficient, until she knew what she wanted.

She let out her breath, gusting
away uncertainty. And that was it, it was all right. She wanted to be
independent and as sure as the clean snow outside renewed her perspective; she
honed her goal: to shed the years of relying on other people or substances for
entertainment, escape, or satisfaction. She was committed to finding the
treasure inside that made her secure in herself, strong and confident in her abilities
to rely on her own two hands, feet, and mind. She’d started with the laundry
and coffee, graduated to the fire and cooking, reading and blogging. She
developed into her own person. That was what she’d wanted. As ordinary as those
things were, they were her interests. The photographs, food, and friends were a
part of her. She was no longer a cookie-cutter model found at some club any
given night. She was Baskia, Queen of the Mountain.

But still, Trace. Where was he?
She worried, fretted, and grumbled all afternoon until Daniella showed up with
a yoga mat. “They say it’s good for the baby.”

Baskia joined her on the floor.
The two of them stretched and strengthened, releasing their thoughts to their
exhalations, preparing for the future with all its uncertainty.

^^^

One afternoon, after a yoga
session, Baskia sat next to Daniella, feeling, with wonder, as her belly bumped
and jittered, the baby kicking.

“I think he likes you.”

“Maybe he just likes yoga. Or the
cabin. You have to admit it’s nice up here. As they say, Om is where the heart
is,” Baskia said.

Daniella burst out laughing.
“You’re such a cheeseball.”

“I’ve been called a lot of
things, but never that.”

“Don’t worry, I mean it in the
best possible way. You seem different than when we first met and you were
stocking up on frozen meals and coffee.”

“I am different. I always wanted
a home and family. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have my parents and brother,
along with several dwellings, apartments, and houses. We have a place in
Sonoma, two in Manhattan, and they’re thinking of buying a villa in Italy. Not
bragging, but none of the places I’ve ever lived felt like home, yanno?”

“I do know what you mean.”

Baskia blurted, “I think my
boyfriend, if I can call him that, has a son.”

Baskia expected a look of concern
and commiseration, but instead Daniella smiled. “That means you get to be his
step-mom. Having a family is a good thing; trust me, even if you aren’t related
by blood. And, the other good news is that means this little bean pod gets a
cousin.”

Baskia leaned back, “You believe
that, even with your lousy stepfather and lame mom?”

“Especially because of them. This
little baby of mine,” she rubbed her belly, “will always have a loving family.”

“I am not step-mom material.”

“Ha. Double-chocolate, cherry
cookies? I spotted the plate on the counter. A glass of milk? No, you’re not
mama material at all,” she said sarcastically.

She didn’t know any details or if
Trace would return, but the fact of it settled over her like the blanket she
tucked around Daniella’s shoulders after they turned on a movie she’d brought
over. They dug into the plate of cookies after dunking them in milk.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

Every time Baskia had an anxious
thought about Trace coming back, she’d write in her journal, cook up something
for her blog, or get on her yoga mat, reminding herself of his words:
That they
were part of the same ancient whole
, and they would reunite when the time
was right.

Stretched upside down on the long
lavender mat was exactly where Wes found her when he poked his head in the
front door, one afternoon. The snow started to thaw and water dripped from the
roof. He set a canvas bag down on the floor.

“I keep missing you at Maisy’s,”
he said.

“I was going to head over this
afternoon.”

“I have class at the community
college,” he said.

“So that’s where you’ve been.”

“Just trying to get a few more
credits in while I can.”

“Hungry?” Baskia asked.

“Starved. I’ve noticed a trend on
your blog. You’re getting healthier. Just keep the kale away from me.”

“I’d say it’s doing Patty some
good. But she adds so much cheese and butter to it.”

“She sure loves butter and
cheese…And cookies and cake,” he added, laughing.

“Don’t forget pie and anything
baked or fried. I figured a little health-i-fication was in order. Daniella
said she had a hard time on some of the walks in Italy. And that’s coming from
a pregnant woman. I want her to be around for a while, yanno?” Baskia had a
great affection for her Vermont friends, thinking of them as family.

“That’s good of you.” Wes
shifted, eyeing the canvas bag he brought in. “Remember that thing I told you?”

Baskia looked quizzically at him,
a virgin, and then glanced at the bag wondering how it related.

“Knitting,” he said.

“Come again?”

He pulled out two long wooden
needles and a ball of yarn the exact color of a hemlock tree. “Check it out. I
was hoping to have it done by now, but look; this is the back of a mitten. It’s
for you, but you’ll have to wear them next winter. As you can see, I didn’t get
quite as far as I’d hoped.”

Baskia noted a white line in the
form of a mountain zigzagging from one side of the panel to the other.

“It’s so you don’t forget your
mountain roots, wherever you end up. Also, I just wanted to say thanks. My life
had already been pretty shaken up, but somehow you shook it up even more, and
then everything settled, like snow. It’s gotten better, a lot better.”

Wes went on to tell Baskia how
there were some signs of Maisy improving, his voice bursting with hope like the
warm spring days that were soon to come. “I thought knitting might be a good
distraction—”

“I’m all done with distractions,”

“A new hobby then.” He passed her
a set of needles and the end of a ball of snowy, white yarn. With patient
hands, he demonstrated how to cast on. “Our mom taught us, Maisy and me.”

Baskia tangled up a few stitches,
but as the afternoon stretched long, she’d made a perfect rectangle.

“Well done.”

When the light faded, Baskia
said, “I think we should take this little piss-n-purl off the mountain. We can
make Maisy an afghan.”

Wes laughed. “I thought you
wanted to stick around so you don’t miss a certain guest.”

“If he comes, he’ll have to do
the sticking.”

Although curiosity and
uncertainty still pricked and poked at Baskia, her friends, cooking, even yoga
brought transformation and set the foundation for authentic confidence and
patience.

In the following weeks, Baskia
occupied herself until the spring thawed the rest of the snow, leaving tracks
of mud and sand everywhere. But the sky was blue, the air damp and earthen. She
welcomed long walks on the trails surrounding the cabin, being able to see the
lake again, and the buds emerging on the trees.

One lilac scented afternoon, she
jogged along a winding trail behind the cabin, slowing to a walk when she heard
rustling ahead. She’d seen plenty of squirrels and chipmunks, awake after the
long winter, along with a few deer, and what may or may not have been the
hind-end of a bear. She walked carefully.

As she rounded a thick pine tree,
a thin grey face turned in her direction and whimpered. Baskia swallowed hard,
afraid the dog might be sick or diseased. She started to back away, but it
stared at her, its eyes doleful. Frozen, she didn’t know what to do. The stand
of trees around her was too high to climb. If she started running, she was sure
the animal would attack because everything about its mangy, wolf-like
appearance screamed at her to run for her life. The heap of fur moaned.

“Are you okay?” she said,
startled by her voice and boldness in the quiet woods. “Are you lost?” She
stepped closer. The rest of the dog’s body came into view. It was clearly
undernourished. Its ribs jutted out, even through its thick, matted fur. “Oh dear.
You poor thing.” Baskia crouched down. “Are you friendly?” She couldn’t turn
her back on the animal.

The dog whimpered again as
Baskia’s pulse raced. She knew there were critters in the woods like bears and
coyotes, but Wes assured her that they’d be more afraid of her, unless she had
a bologna sandwich in her pocket, which she didn’t. A starving, sick, lost dog
on the other hand?

“If I come closer, will you
promise not to bite me?” she asked, knowing it sounded stupid, but also that no
one, other than the dog and maybe the birds, could hear her. She was alone,
left to her own wits and discernment. Baskia took off her jacket and lifted the
animal, without protest, out of the nest of leaves where it had been hiding. He
rested his slim head on her arm. “Okay. It’s going to be a long walk. But I’m
going to help you. Ready?”

Baskia’s sense of purpose
propelled her across the uneven ground carrying the starved, wounded, and lost
animal. When she got back to the cabin, she grabbed a blanket off the couch and
brought the dog directly to a veterinarian on the edge of town.

While she waited on a wooden
bench in the office, her leg bounced anxiously and she read and reread an
advertisement for all-natural dog food. When a vet-tech, wearing blue scrubs,
came out, she wore a half-smile.

“There’s good news and bad news.
Which do you want first?”

Baskia leapt to her feet.
“Please—” Concern robbed her of any more words.

“He should be between sixty and
eighty pounds, but he’s about thirty-eight. Dr. Muller guessed he’s not quite a
year. He’s probably part husky and maybe lab. Either he got lost or someone
dumped him up here. That happens a lot. There’s a rescue center with foster
care if you—”

“No, I want him. Unless there’s a
chance he’s someone’s dog. But that’s all good news. It means he’s going to
make it?” Baskia’s heart flitted, suddenly feeling lighter, hopeful.

“No tags in his ear and we’ve
searched the lost dog database and there isn’t an animal that fits his
description. Of course, someone could come looking for him, but he’s been on
his own for a while, at this point it’s doubtful. As for his health, we think
he’ll be okay. There are a series of tests that we’re waiting on, but unless
anything comes back positive, with a good home and recovery program, he should
do fine.”

Baskia burst into tears and
wrapped her arms around the woman. After completing paperwork and committing to
his care, the dog stayed at the vet for the next few days while Baskia prepared
for his arrival.

Taking Daniella with her, they
schlepped into Chesterbury and loaded up on dog food, toys, a bed, and a basket
full of treats.

“So what are you going to name
him?” Daniella asked, tossing a green bone into the cart.

“I should ask you the same
question. Or her,” Baskia said, motioning to Daniella’s belly.

She smiled. “You’ll have to wait
and see. The puppy?”

“I can’t decide. I feel like when
I get to know him, his name will come to me. Do you know what I mean?”

“He looks like a wolf, with that
wild face, but he’s also cuddly. His eyes, they seem to understand.”

“And all that fur,” Baskia added.

^^^

A week after she’d found the dog,
she picked him up from the vet. He’d gained a few pounds and his fur was clean
and fluffy, hiding his bones. She carried him to the car; the vet encouraged
her to let him conserve his energy for recovery, and he looked up into her
eyes.

“I think you and I will be a good
team,” she said, resting her forehead against his.

Baskia had thought of the future,
of college, and having a dog in the city. She knew it would be tricky, but she
also knew they could make it work. Her mother was allergic to dogs, or so she
said, though Baskia never saw any evidence of sneezing or sniffles when they
were around friends and relatives with animals. Maybe her mom didn’t want to
deal with the shedding and cleaning, not that she'd ever do chores directly.
Baskia had always wanted a dog and wouldn’t give up on the pup. She’d rent an
apartment if she had to; take him out for walks three times a day, or hire a
walker, and find a dog park. She’d make it work.

“So what’s your name?” she asked
her furry companion. “Usually I know the answer to that question before I’m
emotionally invested in a man, but then again, where in the world is Tracey
Wolfe?”

That night, she hoisted the dog on
the couch while she edited photos, softly stroking his fur. He rested his chin
in her lap. “Aww. You’re the best, Pepper,” she said and then gasped. “I guess
that’s your name. Pepper. Nice to meet you.” She laughed.

While Pepper continued to heal,
with bi-weekly check-ins at the vet, Baskia tilled a patch of soil in a sunny
part of the yard and transferred seedlings including tomatoes, beans, some
herbs, and squash into the plot.

She also readied things for her
parent’s arrival over the long holiday weekend. She prepared a menu, with
Patty’s help, and invited everyone over for an afternoon barbecue on Memorial
Day. It didn’t matter if her mom and dad approved of her friend’s social
status, their appearance, or humble lives. Anne and William Benedict would
accept her and the life she’d created on the mountain or not. She knew that
nothing would change the way she felt about herself, she’d found a home, a
family, and was happy there, content with her year of deliberate exploration,
stillness, and reflection.

As the weekend of her parent’s
arrival neared, there was still no sign of Trace, but Baskia had a canine
companion. Whether Trace decided to appear or not, she’d be okay. At least
that’s what she told herself. When she brought Pepper down to the lake, watching
him splash in the shallows, she recalled Trace and her skinny-dipping, the feel
of him pressing against her, his lips. She swallowed hard; telling herself
everything would work out just fine, life would go on with or without Tracey
Wolfe.

One night Baskia’s cell phone
rang, but she didn’t recognize the number. When it rang again, displaying the
digits, she answered, hopeful it was Trace.

A female voice came in choppy
fits and starts and then the line went silent. Pepper groaned as she got back
in bed; he’d taken to sleeping by her legs instead of on his plush doggy bed.
“Let’s go to sleep,” she said. “We have work to do in the morning.”

While Pepper pranced in the yard
chasing invisible squirrels, Baskia weeded and watered her garden, relishing the
muddy smell of the earth. Patty pulled in with a host of platters and trays:
loaners for the barbecue.

“Are you ready for the big
shindig on Monday?” Patty asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.
Thanks,” Baskia said. They talked for a few minutes, Patty offering green thumb
tips for the garden. “I plan to be back a few times during the summer, but feel
free to help yourself to the bounty.”

Her phone jingled later that
afternoon while she organized the cupboards and got ready for her parents’
arrival later that afternoon. She glanced at it to find three missed calls with
messages. She remembered the dropped call from the night before and pressed
listen. For once, the messages came through, but they were garbled, first a
nurse and then London, but she couldn’t decipher what they said.

After cleaning up, she took the
long drive to town to visit Maisy and work on the afghan for an hour or so.
Baskia laughed aloud, saying, “If she could see me now.” She wondered what
London had wanted and knew she might turn her nose up at Baskia’s new way of
life. Although, she’d be returning to the city mid-summer, she wouldn’t be
shoveling or tending fires, in fact, she had a couple shoots in July and
August. Certainly, she’d leave her garden behind, but she’d have Pepper, her friends,
and the blog. Her mind wandered to Trace, his image blurring in her memory. She
landed on his honest eyes, mischievous grin, and the dinners he’d made. She
wondered if they’d find a way to fit into each other’s lives.

Once she was in range, she pressed
listen on her messages again and heard clearly, this time, the nurse discussing
her patient, Kate London. “She listed Baskia Benedict as the person to call in
case of an emergency on her file in the hospital. Please phone as soon as
possible.” The next message offered more detail with info about her overdosing
on drugs and alcohol, but currently in recovery. The last message was from Kate
herself, sounding tired, but calmer than she had in a long time, and
apologetic.